Panda Lily Bloom
by missingthepoint
Summary: Lin didn't need reassurance to know who she was, but it was nice to have it even when it was unintentional. Linzin.


**A/N:** Wanted to write Linzin for a long time. It's a past relationship, and their age range is above 13. Nothing much.

**Disclaimer:** Don't own Legend of Korra. Never will.

* * *

Lin was not frightened. It is what she told others when she stepped into the dress shop, and it was what she told others when she stepped out the dressing room draped in a silk worm made gown designed by the most renowned tailor in the city. In quiet times she wished that she was more similar to the girls her age as she was not thin and willow-like like them. Though she had started puberty ridiculously early, her curves were not as pronounced as a grown woman's, but the curves were determined to make themselves known. Anyone could tell. Her hair was a pitch black that lacked a natural luster, and it was hitched in natural wave curls that carried to the end parts of her shoulder blades.

Yet, her hair was not touched in its normal state on that day. She had felt the twist and pulls as her hair was redesigned to suit the manner of the official meeting that she was going to attend. But it was not a meeting as it was a social gathering, not so much as social gathering as it was a party. She did not want to perceive it as a party because parties were pointless in her opinion, and she dared not to think that something she would be attending was pointless. She forced her thoughts to recreate the gallant social gathering as something more formal when it could have been either, and as she straightened out the invisible wrinkles on the sleeves, she looked into the mirror and saw that she did like, somewhat, what was in the mirror.

Above the jawline or somewhere close to it, she would not be able to tell, three lines tore into her tanned skin. Initially, she believed the scars to be disfiguring and despised them with all her might, but as time went on, becoming a part of her, she came to adore the scars that gave her a certain edginess other girls seemed to lack. She did not have her mother's porcelain white skin, like a delicate, priceless doll, but her skin was close to perfection as hers had been. But she had the scars, and the scars, while appealing to her eyes, were a put off too a numerous set of people. A constant reminder, her thoughts betrayed her with its coolness, Of what isn't anymore. She flipped her hair arrogantly, and she willed the traitorous thoughts into submission.

It was looking into an old aged portrait of her dear Grandmother Poppy. She was not as elegant as the woman had been, not as civil, but her facial features were similar to hers. Not as pronounced, of course, but the likeliness was there, and in terms, when she traveled to her mother's hometown, she was greeted with the common label, "Poppy's Granddaughter." It was not as hard to swallow as "Beifong's Offspring" or "The Daughter of Chief of Police." The two labels, while endearing and dignified, made her cringe in shame, but it was not shame that she felt in the pit of her stomach. It was not. No, it was more like a kick to the stomach, a punch to the face, a grabble to the hair, but she did not feel shame when she heard the labels called out to her. Yet, the severity was lessened when she heard her grandmother's name as her grandmother's name lacked the intensity her mother's name did.

Her hands grazed up and down the fabric of the dress gently. It was a faint green, and was much lighter than any dress she had seen before. Graceful in form and shaped out the growing curves visible on her physique, she smoothly ran her hands down where her eight hourglass shape should be. Puberty was beginning to grow on her, and she was proud, relieved, to know that it was not as horrible an experience that some made it out to be. She had gotten a few pimples, a few zits, and her monthlies had begun when she was twelve, but it was not such a disastrous time. The one part that seemed to irritate her was that she became aware of how men happened to look at her, with the male gaze hovering around her, and it was an obvious change from when she was ten and eleven. She was no longer the reedy young girl with cut short black hair and large but not innocent green eyes.

Though she lacked her mother's cream white skin and empty blind eyes, eyes that were not truly empty but appeared to be, she thought herself as pretty. Perhaps, she was not beautiful and exotic. The titles, as she had known, belonged to Ursa and Kya, but she liked to think that she was something worthy to look at. It would take a person a second glance, maybe a third, to look into her face or the side to realize that it was her, but they would know. Then, after realizing she was who she was, they would turn away in embarrassment at looking at a girl such as her.

The glass was frighteningly cold against her fingertips, and she pressed her fingers further, not too hard out of the fear that she would break the sensitive glass. She used a manicured nail to line out her image in the mirror, a face that was familiar to her but not completely because it was odd to look at herself in such a way. You know this doesn't matter to you, she remembered the rough but loving tone of her mother's voice, You know who you are. At times she imagined that her mother was still around. By chance when a boulder would stumble on its own accord, she thought that it was her mother. The rocks and dirt beneath her feet were her mother; a part of her mother that would not leave her, not now and not ever. She had to remind herself that her mother was dead, buried beneath the land she had loved dearly, beneath the rocks and dirt and antiques that would not be seen any time soon by any eyes. Dead. It did not do justice when it concerned Toph 's mother, idol, was not merely dead. No, dead was not just a state that could be related to her mother.

Killed. Murdered. By a man who even the great Avatar Aang could not stop until it was too late; a man who the great Avatar Aang decided, especially when it opposed his naturally pacifist stance, had to be killed in turn. He, the Avatar who ended the 100 Year War, killed a man who killed one of his best friends, and though Yakone's life had ended, her mother's death avenged, the tears of anger and lost could not be stopped.

How the tears burned to the touch as they ran down to the low jawline and dropped down from the chin making small raindrops on her clenched hands, buried beneath the numerous skirts of her dress. No, she would not cry this time, not this time, but the tears would not be stopped. A river they became as they streamed out from her eyes, and it go worse. An action traitorous to her entire sense of self, a wracking sob forced its way out her mouth and made its presence known as it echoed in the dressing room. She clamped her mouth shut with a move of her hand, and listened as it lingered on into it was no more.

Please, she begged as she panted to catch her fleeting breath, Don't, not now.

Fate was not on her side, and she could feel, heard, the approaching footsteps to the dressing room door. Light and calculate, the person stopped behind the door and pause, a hand ready to knock but not willing to do the deed. Lin looked at the door with a scowl on her face, tears evaporating but eyes growing bloodshot, and she knew that the person would not open the door unless she told him to. Wimpy kid, she bit back bitterly, but she called out to him, nonetheless.

"Alright, come on," she wiped the tears away and straightened out the dress without standing up, "I know you're there."

The last tear was dried up, but she looked into the mirror and saw that there were puffed up lines around her eyes. "Damn it," she cursed beneath her breath.

Tenzin came in quietly, hardly made a sound, and he stared at her with blushed cheeks. He was the unfortunate person who was assigned to escort her throughout the city. He had complained to his mother that it was a woman's job to help another find a suitable dress, something that his sister Kya could have done easily, but he had been informed that it would not be that hard. "Oh Tenzin," his mother laughed as she pecked his cheeks, "She needs a friend right now, and you're the best one she has."

While he had disagreed with the statement, with the very idea that he would have to escort her, the task had not been as difficult as he anticipated. Lin had known what do, where to go, and he was no more than a mere guide, which he did not understand because she knew the city just as well as he did. She demanded that he sit down on a nearby chair, and he did. He read a book, he was alone, but then he heard a sound, a tiny sound that attacked his heart, senses. A sob. He first thought it was some other person, but there was no other person to cry out. And so, it left the most obvious conclusion, a conclusion he was not fond of.

Tenzin knew he should have stayed in the chair, or at least in bed.

The dress Lin wore was not too tight on her, but it was not too light. There was no make up on her face, not yet, but she looked more feminine in the dress than he had ever seen her. The dress, the absence of make up, and even her hair was not what caught his attention, but he would admit in the late hours of the night that it was an appealing sight to behold. Her eyes. She had been crying, and a sickening sensation kicked him in the stomach. Red rings were obvious around her eyes, and even the white had been tainted with red.

He stood awkwardly with his cheeks blushed as the shopkeeper kept his nose out of the way.

"Is everything going well," he coughed to clear his throat, "I heard a noise."

She crossed her arms, "I'm sure you did."

"Y-you don't need any help?" He did not mean to cringe beneath her menacing stare, but it was hard not to.

"Of course I don't!" She nearly roared, "I was just-just thinking on this stupid party that everyone is making me going to." "It is held in the name of your family," he pointed out, "but I see why you wouldn't want to go."

It became silent. He did not know what to say, and she did not know what to do. They stood in the uncomfortable silence for several seconds, maybe a few minutes, but Tenzin was the one to end it.

"Is this the dress you're going to wear?" He asked carefully.

"Yeah," she huffed, "what about it?"

It appeared that he was dumbfounded, not knowing what to say, and consequently, he blurted out the first thing that came to mind, "Nothing, you're just radiant as ever." Instantly, he realized what he said and stood struck with terror as she stood struck with horror. He raised his hands up in a mock defense, a defense that would not work to keep her at baby, and he grinned crookedly while his shaved head popped out beads of sweat.

"I didn't mean it like that," he stammered.

"Then, what did you mean?" She stomped up to him with a glare in her green eyes and hands clenched into angry fists, "Huh, what do you mean?"

It had taken one to two seconds for her to be inches from his face, and it did not matter that she was inches shorter than he was. On instinct he leaned back on his face, and he tried to ignore the erratic thumping of his heart. He cursed his misfortune that he seemed to be the unluckiest person on the planet right now. Flashed green, her eyes regarded him with contempt, but he could tell that it was not total contempt. Lin was a grouchy person, and the years have not been particularly kind to her. But as he stared into her eyes, he also knew that she would not harm, not before the important party that is.

"All I meant was that you looked beautiful in your dress," he felt crushed when he said the words as she had unknowingly closed the gap against their bodies and had pressed him against the wall, "you look adequate."

"Adequate?" She cocked an eyebrow, "Adequate." She repeated the word through gritted teeth.

"Yes, adequate."

She began to lower her guard and moved from him while she crossed her hands back across her chest. He did not know whether she meant to regard him with judgmental value or simply anger, but her lips tightened into an unpleasant smile. Her shoulders slumped and she sighed, shaking her head at him, "Get out. I'll be leaving soon."

He was going to protest, and he had opened his mouth just to do that. However, he noted that her voice was uncharacteristically gentle and drained of energy. He decided that it was best to leave her as she was until she was prepared to talk, and besides, they would have all day to talk. He was the most likely candidate to remain at her side for the duration of the day, and as he walked out the door, going to return to the bleak corner in the dress shop where his book lay waiting for him, he stopped. His hand gripped on the side of the doorframe, and he stood there. But he did not look back at her, he swallowed silently, and his fingers dug into the wood of the doorframe.

"Lin." He said in an above whisper, "You look radiant. Always."

He did not see the stunned expression on her face as he stepped out and walked down to the back of the store. He did not see when her shoulders shot up and her face turned the lightest shade of pink. He did not see when her right hand went straight up to where the etched scars of tragedies past were kept on her face. The words did not sting, but they felt misplaced, not to be said to a girl like her. Her hand had not meant to, but it latched onto the skin while she looked to the rough, concrete floor. Her heart pounded in her chest, and if it were possible, he would have heard the quickening pace as the blood swam to her cheeks.

"Tenzin," the statement of gratitude came out her mouth without her willing it, "thank you."

There was no click and no lock when the door closed behind him. Eventually, she removed the dress and patiently placed it on a hanger that was to the wall. The mirror appeared to be her friend at the moment, and she gazed into the reflection that the mirror provided. There were no lies or misconceptions; she was who was she was meant to be.

The hand that concealed the scars from common sight fell slowly to her side. "And I will not doubt again, Mother," and she kept the vow true until her last breath.

* * *

**A/N: **Linzin is a sad ship to sail. There is a fan theory going about that Yakone was responsible for the death(s) of Toph and Sokka. We know that Sokka is dead, but we don't know what happened to Toph. On the interactive game, besides from Lin's age and what we already know about Toph, there isn't any information on her. There's no age, and there's nothing about her present self, dead or not. But they do refer to Toph in the present tense, not the past, and that gets me hopeful.

Didn't expect Toph to be the mysterious type.

Please, do not hesitate to leave a review of any kind. They make me happy and point out likes and dislikes.


End file.
